


gonna leave my body (lose my mind)

by LadyMerlin



Series: RoyEd Month 2020 [5]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), Canon-Typical Violence, Competence Kink, Day 18, Edward Elric is his Bodyguard, Eventual Happy Ending, Flirting, Fuhrer Roy Mustang, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, RoyEd Month 2020
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24234931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMerlin/pseuds/LadyMerlin
Summary: “These days,” Ed says, a grin teasing at the corner of his lips, “I’m pretty sure I’m taller than you are.” He takes a single, deliberate step, bringing him close enough that Roy can see the flecks of darker gold in his iris, the smattering of freckles on the bridge of his nose. Something gold glints from underneath Ed’s ear, and it takes all of Roy’s self control to notstare.(or; After the third assassination attempt, Riza writes a letter to Resembool.)
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Series: RoyEd Month 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1716067
Comments: 70
Kudos: 320
Collections: RoyEd month





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for Day 18 of RoyEd Month 2020: Bodyguard
> 
> The title comes from 'Leave My Body' by Florence + The Machine - at least I'm confident I haven't used this one before *eyeroll*

After the third assassination attempt, Riza writes a letter to Resembool.

She receives a response ten days later, and sends out another letter almost immediately after. 

Of course, Roy only learns about the correspondence a month after the fact, when Edward Elric turns up in Central, tall and broad and golden, grinning like he’s got a knife between his teeth. His hair is longer than Roy has ever seen it, tied up in a braid which hangs over his shoulder almost down to his waist. 

By then it’s too late. Nothing in him is capable of turning Ed away, not from his door or from his city. The only thing left to do is glare at Riza and mumble about betrayal. 

It’s not, really. If she was going to betray him, he’d know it. 

“Hey bastard,” are the first words he hears from Ed in actual years. “I heard you’re looking to hire a bodyguard.” It’s true, so Roy can’t even deny it, at least, not while Riza is watching. “Got an application form? I’ve got great references,” he says with a smirk that is both overwhelmingly familiar, and not. Ed looks like himself - of course he does - but he also looks older, and different. Freedom looks good on him. Maturity looks… looks _very_ good on him. 

“I’m not as worried about the reference checks as I am about the city insurance premiums,” Roy teases, but it’s not pointed enough to be at Ed’s expense. He does know where to draw the line. A bodyguard whom he trusts without question would be an unexpected blessing. “You can go ahead and cancel the rest of the interviews, Riza.” It’s not like anyone could possibly stand a chance against the Fullmetal Alchemist. 

Oh god. 

“Welcome back, Edward.” 

This is going to go so poorly.

-

As it turns out, Ed is pretty well suited to be a bodyguard, despite his, well, _everything_. 

It’s been six years since the Promised Day but the image of a red-and-gold alchemist is still embedded in the public consciousness. It only takes a single outing with Roy before people start whispering about the People’s Alchemist being back in town. Ed doesn’t seem pleased about it, surprisingly, even chooses to abandon his famous red coat when he’s out with Roy. 

“If everyone knows I’m here, it makes things harder for us. Potential attackers will come armed for bear.”

“Come now,” Roy says without thinking about it - because he’s thinking about the truth of what Ed has said instead, and because snark is his mother tongue - “you’re hardly tall enough to be mistaken for a bear.” 

He’s expecting an explosion. Outrage. Promises of retribution and fiery death. Instead, Ed barks a laugh at him, and Roy blinks. Something warm coalesces behind his bellybutton. Oh. That’s new. 

“These days,” Ed says, a grin teasing at the corner of his lips, “I’m pretty sure I’m taller than you are.” He takes a single, deliberate step, bringing him close enough that Roy can see the flecks of darker gold in his iris, the smattering of freckles on the bridge of his nose. Something gold glints from underneath Ed’s ear, and it takes all of Roy’s self control to not _stare_. 

Despite all his efforts, Roy can’t help but sneak a glance upwards, where that peculiar strand of golden hair is indeed, standing inches over his own head. He nods, because it’s true, and because his higher functions aren’t quite capable of producing words right now. 

Ed takes another step into Roy’s space. “That’s all that matters to me,” he murmurs, and Roy has to think for a second before he understands what Ed is talking about - his entire attention is focused on the distance between them, or the lack thereof, so minute that he imagines he can feel Ed’s body heat radiating through the air. 

Roy’s lips are bone dry, almost like they’re cracking under the heat of Ed’s proximity, and he licks them reflexively, even though he knows that never helps. Ed’s eyes flicker down to Roy’s mouth, and — surely not, surely he’s misreading the situation. But Ed doesn’t step back, still, and Roy doesn’t know if he ever will, or if Roy ever wants him to. 

A dog barks outside and the sound breaks the tense moment, a fact for which Roy is almost grateful. “I guess I’ll have to give you that one,” Roy manages to rasp when Ed steps back, rubbing the base of his own throat, where it had felt like his heart was going to launch itself out of his chest and into his mouth from beating so hard. 

Ed’s grin is a little sheepish, but there’s nothing uncertain about the look in his eyes, so intense that it almost has a physical weight, and Roy can feel it on him while he pretends to work. 

The warmth in Roy’s belly solidifies into something incandescent, volcanic, melting away the base of his spine. Oh no. 

Oh god. 

-

That night, Riza finds him alone in his office, face pressed into his palms, elbows propped on the edge of the desk. His shoulders are slumped, rendering him the very image of defeat. 

Ed has gone for dinner because Roy has been - contrary to popular belief - looking after himself since he turned fifteen. Admittedly, he was four years older than Ed when he started, but he’s been at it longer, since then. Age before beauty, and all that. He’s not totally useless; he can keep himself safe in his own office for an hour, at least. 

Riza stops in front of his desk, but Roy doesn’t look up until she raps on the wooden table with her knuckle. She doesn’t comment on his apparent inattention; she knows that he knows the cadence of her steps. If it had been anyone else walking into his office, the scene would probably have been very different.

She waits.

“I thought I was over this,” he says, lowly, glancing away from her face like he can’t bear to make eye-contact. 

She continues to not-comment. Pointedly doesn’t say anything about voluntary blindness. As if Roy could ever grow out of this. As if it could have ever been so easy. 

“I can’t do this, Riza. I’m too old to be feeling this way.” 

“I don’t think there’s an age limit on these things, Roy.”

Their relationship has changed a lot since the Promised Day, for the better.

Riza isn’t as flashy as Ed or Roy himself - few people are - but she’d been the bedrock without which none of them would have survived. She’d proven herself - her loyalty, her ability, her kindness - a hundred times over, and he’d like to think that he'd proven himself to be worthy of her, in return. 

As a result their relationship is a little less intense these days, which everyone takes to mean that they’ll be getting married and having children soon enough. But the truth is they’re too alike for it to ever work, like that. He’d considered it once, himself, but he doesn’t think he’d ever be able to see her as anything other than a sister and a trusted confidante. His best friend. He thinks Maes would have approved of his successor. 

None of that changes the fact that she’d invited Edward here, ostensibly to save his life, but this might just be the death of him. 

“I really can’t do this, Riza.”

“Can’t do what, bastard?” Ed demands, walking into the room like he’d been a part of the conversation all along. Roy feels the blood drain from his face, and he shakes his head silently.

The grin on Ed’s face turns into something like concern, and he turns to Riza as if seeking confirmation that Roy’s alright. It’s too much. He can’t do this. Ed isn’t supposed to care. He quietly thanks whichever deity is listening that the look on Ed’s face is genuinely confused, and it doesn’t look like he’d been eavesdropping. 

“It’s alright, Edward,” Riza says when it becomes clear that words are beyond Roy, the way they tend to be whenever Ed is in the room. “Roy is just working through some things.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Ed asks, apparently sincere. 

Roy huffs, though the sound has no amusement in it. “No one can help me,” he says finally, when Ed turns to him. “Don’t worry about it.” He ignores the disapproving look on Riza’s face when he gets up and starts packing his bag. It’s not like he was being productive anyway. He might as well go home. 

-

The fourth assassination attempt takes place while Roy is trying to give a speech about the Ishvalan war, and all the atrocities they’d committed in the name of defending Amestris. It reads like a confession, damning every single person who’d been there, including himself, but it’s necessary. The only way for a wound to heal is for the infection to be lanced. 

Clearly, not everyone agrees.

This attempt is better organised than the ones before, clearly orchestrated by a team of sorts. They’re hiding amongst the crowd, rendering Roy’s own arsenal useless, if he doesn’t want to risk setting his audience on fire. The first shot misses, and gives Ed just enough time to put up a shield before the second and third, bullets bounce off thin air like it’s made of diamond. 

There’s an uproar as the crowd panics and disperses, but from the corner of his eye, Roy hones in on a small patch of stillness. He catches Havoc’s eye over the thinning crowd and points two fingers at the regrouping assassins, giving him the go-ahead to take whatever steps he feels are necessary. Havoc turns and moves, signaling to Riza as he does, individual cogs of his team working in perfect synchrony. 

Two more bullets ping harmlessly off the shield surrounding Roy, and he turns partially to face Ed, quickly surveying him to make sure he’s alright. Ed waves him off and continues scanning the environment, looking for any threats other than bullets that might be able to get through the shield. 

Ordinarily they’d get him off the stage and into an enclosed area, for better control. But considering they don’t know where the threat is coming from, moving him would be more risky than standing still and staying low under Ed’s shield. 

Roy catches Falman’s eye and points out another location where snipers might be hiding, and doesn’t wait for him to acknowledge the command before he turns to continue scanning the arena; he trusts that Falman can handle himself. 

The minutes that drip past feel impossibly slow, even though Roy knows objectively that it doesn’t take the team long to apprehend the perpetrators at all. They only lose one of the perps when he shoots himself in the head and bleeds out before they can get an ambulance in. 

It’s not a bad outcome, all things considered, but that doesn’t stop Roy from feeling every single second like lead weights in his bones. He wants to go home and sleep for ten hours, but instead he sits through three separate debriefs, repeating himself and explaining his actions again and again and again, and defending the actions taken by his team.

In the end, it’s Ed’s temper that saves him. When the security oversight committee starts making noise about adjourning for an hour and coming back for some sort of super-redundant interview with everyone in the room, Ed snaps. He bangs his mug on the table so hard that the handle breaks clean off, and then shoots a deadly glare at the head of the committee; a paper-pusher whose spine Ed could snap without even pausing to blink. “No,” he growls, and does not elaborate.

The guy - a second or third lieutenant with absolutely no aspirations of climbing any higher - swallows hard and fails to create any semblance of words. He clears his throat and tries again, and this time it looks like he might even manage to voice his objection. 

It’s a thought that makes Roy feel like crying inside, but Ed just clears his throat again and shakes his head. He crosses his arms across his chest in a way that emphasises his broad shoulders and his muscular arms, suggesting firmly that it would not be a good idea to disagree with him. “None of what you’re doing is useful. You’re not going to be able to stop future attempts at the Fuhrer’s life by over-analysing the previous ones.”

Ed has never used his proper title before. 

“The assassins are smart, but any idiot can tell you they’re unrelated attempts. Looking at the tactics of one group isn’t going to help you nab the other groups. What you need to do is train your people, make sure they know what to do in the face of an attempt against the Fuhrer, or anyone else. And stop wasting everyone’s time on pointless meetings like this, _honestly_.” 

Ed isn’t going to win any popularity contests, but Roy is so grateful for him saying what Roy himself wants to say but can’t, that he doesn’t even pretend to chide Ed. Even when the head of committee turns to implore him wordlessly for intervention, Roy doesn’t give it to him, because he wants to go _home_. 

“Alright,” the second lieutenant says finally, shakily, and Roy suddenly feels bad. Maybe the guy was just trying to do his job, the one he’s been trained to do, to the best of his ability. “Maybe we can call it a day and regroup tomorrow.” 

He sees Ed opening his mouth to say something but Roy intervenes before he can 

“Thank you, Lieutenant Aaron,” he says, the guy’s name coming back to him in the space between one word and the next. “You’ve done well, leading this meeting, and some interesting ideas have been explored. Tomorrow is a weekend, though, and while we will each no doubt continue working, I suggest that you do so from the comfort of your home. My team has other obligations to attend to, and your team must be exhausted, and we would not want to unduly abbreviate any further discussions with your team.” Roy would prefer there were no further discussions with this guy’s team, period, but the nature of not being an evil murderous dictator requires that he consider his people’s opinions so that they can do their jobs. 

Lieutenant Aaron stutters and fumbles his folder, and then snaps a surprisingly sharp salute. “Yessir,” he says, and his team follows, each one looking newly determined and refreshed. 

Roy sighs. He waits for everyone to file out of the room before slumps back into his chair and rubs his face. This job is going to be the death of him, one way or another. 

Ed ambles around to his side of the table and leans against it, arms crossed over his chest as he looks down at Roy. “Buck up, Mustang. It’s not the first and it won’t be the last.” Oddly, the assassination attempt had been the last thing on his mind. “For what it’s worth, I think the team handled themselves really fucking well. I’m impressed. Ling’s royal guards could have done no better.” 

Roy ponders on this for a second, and then nods, accepting the compliment. “Thanks. Thank you.” 

Ed just nods in return and doesn’t say anything. At least, not until Roy swivels his chair to face a cabinet behind his desk, shuffling through files and looking for something that needs to be done, but ideally won't take him longer than a few hours. “What are you doing?” 

Roy blinks but doesn’t make eye-contact. “These forms are due,” he glances down at his watch, “in approximately four-point-five hours. I’m filling them in so they can be submitted.” 

Ed snorts, and it’s such an ugly sound that it shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. Roy tries not to sigh, or to let on how much he likes it. “First of all, you’re the Fuhrer. I mean, I can’t believe I have to say anything more than that, you’re literally the _Fuhrer_. They’re not going to do anything to you if you miss one stinking timeline. And second,” Ed charges on before Roy can interrupt, “even if it’s a super important deadline, I’m sure they can make allowances given that you were almost _assassinated_ a couple of hours ago, _idiot_.” There’s a hint of some emotion in Ed’s voice that Roy can’t recognise, a tight, painful sort of sound, and he almost wishes he could turn around and rub Ed’s shoulders until it goes away. 

There’s a list in his head of all the lines he would be crossing, if he did. Of all the people he would be letting down, all the trust he would be breaking. He'd be a hypocrite of the highest order, and that is the one thing he cannot afford to be. He tightens his grip around the flimsy yellow file, card and paper cutting into the skin of his hands, and _holds_ his position. “That’s the point, Ed,” he says, when he’s regained control over himself. “I’m the Fuhrer. I can’t - the rules have to apply to me the same as they apply to everyone else. I can’t be the exception.” He hopes Ed can't tell that he's trying to convince himself, too. 

Ed sighs, but doesn’t look terribly surprised. “I guess I can’t complain. If you weren’t the way you are, I don’t think you’d be anywhere as popular.” 

Roy is too tired to parse the meaning of Ed’s words; he’s hardly as popular as King Bradley was, so that doesn’t make any sense. And besides, he’s not as honourable as he’d like to be. At the end of the day, he’s only a conman putting on airs, pretending to be a better person than he really is and denying his base desires. He doesn’t say anything for long moments and Ed clicks his tongue, pushing himself upright. He’s so close that Roy thinks he can smell the scent of gunfire and electricity on him. 

“I can literally see your brain melting through your ears, bastard. Let’s go. You need to sleep.” 

Roy doesn’t - can’t - argue. He gets up and follows.


	2. Chapter 2

The ride to Roy’s place is pretty short. It’s not short enough that Roy doesn’t doze off in the passenger seat, head pressed against the cool window, fingers clenched around the strap of the seat belt across his chest. Ed is completely silent, which is an unusual state of affairs, but nothing about the day has been ‘normal’ so Roy probably doesn’t have any right to be surprised. 

The silence lasts all the way until the car is parked and Ed touches his shoulder to wake him up. Roy startles like he’s been kicked, his heart pounding like it’s about to jump straight out of his chest and into his mouth. He only calms down when he turns to see Ed in the driver’s seat, hands up in the air, and another expression on his face that Roy can’t quite read. He’s getting quite tired of not being able to understand Ed; once this had been easy. But perhaps it’s not his place anymore, to know Ed so well. 

“Sorry,” is the only thing that comes to Roy’s mind, but Ed is shaking his head before he even finishes saying the entire word. 

“ _I’m_ sorry, that was my bad, don’t apologise,” and then, “shall we?” 

It takes all the way until they’re in Roy’s house, and Ed is locking the door behind them, for Roy to notice that Ed has locked himself in with Roy. “Hh?” he asks, because formulating words is beyond him, and he’s too tired to care how embarrassing this will be when he wakes up. That’s a problem for tomorrow - or later today - he’s not sure what time it is, now. 

“Don’t be an idiot,” Ed says, like he knows exactly what Roy is asking. “I’m not leaving you alone, tonight.” 

Roy doesn’t want Ed to leave him alone, ever again. “They won’t try again. Not so soon,” he tries instead. From the corner of his eye, the couch looks impossibly comfortable, and Roy stares at it longingly, wondering if it would be too inappropriate to just ask Ed to sleep in his bed while Roy slept here. The stairs to his bedroom might as well as be a mountain pass. 

“If I were out to kill you, this is exactly when I’d try. Your guard is down, your staff complacent; if I wanted you dead, this would be the perfect time for it.” 

Roy groans and rubs his face. He has to lean against the wall to keep upright while he toes his shoes off. He doesn’t have the energy to argue, either. He’s not sure why he’s so tired, but he knows better than to ignore the signs his body is sending him. “Spare linens in the closet. You can have the guest room or the couch, but I think the couch is actually better than the spare bed.” Ed turns to stare at him, incredulous that he’s playing host _now_ , of all times. But Roy wasn’t raised to be a savage. Bodyguard or not, Ed is still one of the most important people in his life, and he knows he - and his house - aren’t exactly making the best impression right now. Making Ed comfortable is the least he can do. “Food’s in the fridge, help yourself. If you want a shower the bathroom upstairs is nicer, there’s a tub.” 

Ed doesn’t say anything, just follows Roy up the stairs and into his own bedroom. Roy assumes he’s taking up the offer for the bathtub before he realises that Ed is actually ushering him into his own bedroom. He blinks like an idiot when Ed pulls upon a cupboard and starts going through it, quickly but efficiently, without leaving much of a mess. 

“I don’t think there’s an assassin hiding in my cupboard,” Roy says wearily, dropping onto his bed and trying not to stare at the vision of Ed making himself at home in Roy’s bedroom. 

“Don’t be an idiot,” Ed says again, but his tone is soft. “I’m not looking for an assassin, I’m looking for your night clothes. You won’t sleep well in full uniform.” He sounds like he’s speaking from experience, and Roy can’t actually disagree; very few things are more irksome than waking up to the sensation of pins stabbing into his chest. 

“I don’t have any,” Roy admits, and then yawns. He usually sleeps in the nude. He reminds himself that he’ll deal with the embarrassment tomorrow. “Just pass me an academy shirt or something. I’ve got some which would probably fit you. They’ll be more comfortable than what you’re wearing too.” 

Roy doesn’t catch the folded shirt that flies towards him, and it hits him in the face before dropping into his lap. He blinks and Ed swears. “Sorry, shit. Thought you’d catch that, sorry.” 

He can’t imagine why Ed would apologise for something as silly as this. He shakes his head, “it’s fine. I should’ve been paying attention.” He briefly considers standing up to change in the bathroom, but this thing he has about Ed - whatever it is - it’s in his own head. It’s _his_ problem, not Ed’s. Roy lost his body-shyness a long time ago, and he’s not going to make this any more awkward for either of them by letting Ed realise that Roy has a _thing_ about being naked in the same room. He’s an _adult_ , Ed is his _subordinate_ , damn it. 

He turns away from Ed and unbuttons his uniform shirt, ignoring the way his muscles are screaming at him in protest. The shirt smells like smoke and sweat and Roy wrinkles his nose, standing up to dump it in the laundry basket. He unbuttons the front of his trousers and the sound of the fly being undone is deafening in the quiet room, hardly loud enough to cover the sound of a quick inhale behind him. Roy pretends he didn’t hear it. 

His back must be a mess of bruises and scars and scabs. Easy nightmare material. He’s not offended, even though the weight of Ed’s gaze is acid hot on his back. He drops his trousers and kicks them into the laundry basket too, and then pulls on the holey academy shirt, feeling instantly less exposed. He turns around to find Ed half-heartedly looking through the cupboard, pretending he hasn’t seen Roy - hasn’t seen Roy’s mess. 

Roy steps over to the dresser and pulls out some of Maes’ old clothes, which will be a better fit for Ed’s broad shoulders. They’d always kept clothes at each others’ apartments in case they ever needed somewhere to crash, even after Maes married Gracia. She’d been remarkably kind about the whole thing. Taking out the clothes now is like stepping back in time. He imagines they even smell like Maes, though he knows that’s not possible after all these years. 

He hands them to Ed in silence and prays that Ed’s youth will force him to leave the room while he changes, to preserve his modesty. Roy doesn’t think he has enough strength in him to even try anything now, but he knows that the sight of Ed’s body would be much more pleasant than his own. It wouldn’t be fair. 

Ed doesn’t meet his eyes and leaves the room, leaving Roy to close the cupboard doors and sink into his own bed, slightly more awake than he’d been fifteen minutes ago, but no less drained. 

He’s not expecting it when Ed comes back into the room, dressed in long sweatpants and a thin grey t-shirt, carrying a chair. He puts the chair on the side of the bed closer to the door and further from Roy, and then locks the bedroom door behind himself. 

Roy blinks at him in confusion, and Ed shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “I’m not going to leave you alone tonight. I’d been hoping that Riza was exaggerating about the seriousness of these attacks, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t take this as a wake-up call. People want you dead. They’re not going to leave you alone just because you’re sleeping. I’ll stay with you, until this is sorted out.” 

Roy doesn’t think this is going to be sorted out until the day he dies, or steps down, whichever comes first. Maybe even after he steps down, he’ll have pissed off enough people during his reign that they’ll want their pound of flesh after it’s over. He’ll count it as a job well done. He’s not expecting this to end any other way. Not a single Fuhrer in the history of Amestris has died of natural causes. Not one. Roy’s hardly special enough to be the first exception in some four-hundred years of history. 

“Okay,” he says, though he should know better than to tell Ed what he can and cannot do, “you’re going to sit there and watch me all night? When I’m sleeping?” 

Ed crosses his arms stubbornly and lifts his head, as if asking Roy what he’s going to do about it. 

Roy shakes his head. “And then when I wake up tomorrow, you’re going to follow me to the office and spend the entire day doing your job, and then what, come home again and stay awake the whole night?” It’s absurd. “That’s ridiculous, Ed, it won’t work. Just go to sleep. Neither of us are going to be any use if we’re too tired to do our jobs. And besides, if they get past our wards, we probably deserve whatever we get, eh?” 

It’s a bad joke, but some part of Roy almost believes it. He’s playing with stolen time anyway - every morning he gets is a gift. It puts things into perspective. Riza and Maes would kick his ass for this line of thought, and he suspects Ed would too, so he keeps it to himself. 

Ed shakes his head and sets his jaw. “It won’t be forever. Just until I can find someone else to take the night shift. I’ve done worse things on less sleep, I’ll be fine.” 

“Has it occurred to you that you did the worse things _because_ of the lack of sleep? Nevermind,” _that’s_ a futile line of argument - he knows perfectly well it won’t go anywhere. “I don’t think - neither of us would sleep through our wards being broken,” Roy tries to reason instead. “We’d be awake even before the alarms go off.” 

Ed still refuses, shaking his head, arms crossed over his chest, emphasizing just how tight Maes’ shirt is, stretched across his muscles. Roy’s mouth goes dry and his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, but he doesn’t want to make a fool of himself, anymore than he already has. He has to play this cool, like Ed is no different than any other member of Roy’s team, to whom he would extend similar courtesy. 

Though, there are different approaches to different members of his team. He wouldn’t say this to Riza or Falman, but for Ed, Roy clicks his tongue and drops his head back against the pillow, narrowly avoiding bashing his head against the metal headboard in a way that would have ruined any further attempts at being ‘cool’. Then he grabs the edge of the blanket closer to Ed and lifts it up to reveal the mattress; any more blatant an invitation would have Ed running in the opposite direction, which contrary to what he’s saying, is not what Roy actually wants. “Get in,” he deadpans, when Ed doesn’t move. 

“Mustang, seriously. I’ve slept in worse places than a chair. And I’m not exactly planning to sleep, tonight.” 

Roy rolls his eyes and pats the bed. “Alright, you can keep vigil while lying down. Trust me, you think you’re invincible now, but five years down the road your back will thank you for it.” 

Ed snorts softly and rolls his eyes in response. “My back is already fucked beyond repair, Mustang. It’s the price I paid for the automail, and I’ve accepted it. One more night in a chair isn’t going to make it any worse.” 

Roy turns to face Ed, tucking his elbow under his body and bracing his other hand against the mattress to keep upright. “Seems pretty unfair. The automail was the price for your brother’s armour. Your back is the price for the automail. Your and Al’s childhoods were the price for human transmutation. Doesn’t seem right that you had to pay so much for one mistake.” It’s not something he’d say in the light of day, if he’d been in his right mind, but he’s not, and it’s still dark outside, and the room is small and warm and Ed is so close that the words escape before he can stop them. He wants to take them back, but knowing his luck that would just make things worse than they already are. “Sorry,” he starts, and then stops, stuck. 

Ed shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry. I - I never think of it that way, I guess. I guess it’s just. Everything worked out, in the end. I mean I know we got pretty close to it not working, and we lost a lot of battles but in the end we won the war.” He shrugs. “The price I paid must have been just right for my part in everything. If I think about it any other way, I dunno. Thinking about what I could have done better, my regrets and stuff - it won’t help anyone. It’s not like I can go back and fix my mistakes.” 

And Roy gets that too. Ed is fourteen years younger than him, but it feels like his mistakes have always been… not worse, because that implies fault or blame, but _bigger_ than Roy’s own. Or maybe they just seem disproportionate, for how young Ed is. Or perhaps, because Ed has always done bigger and more impressive things than Roy, his mistakes just have to match. 

Ed sighs and stands up, and for a second Roy thinks he’s going to leave the room and he starts running through any number of things he might say, but then the mattress sinks as Ed sits down beside him. When he lies down, he’s so close that Roy is almost shivering from the sheer proximity, basking in the heat radiating from Ed’s skin. 

Ed lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling, and Roy is on the verge of turning away too, _anything_ to make this less awkward, when Ed turns onto his side to face him. They lie there for long moments, just looking at each other in silence. Roy doesn’t know what his face is doing, but he can only hope it’s as composed and neutral as Ed’s, which is a sentence he never thought he’d ever think. Even his thoughts are fuzzy and nonsensical. 

“Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like, to be normal,” Ed whispers, and Roy is going to answer, really, he is, but he falls asleep between one breath and the next, sinking into darkness like a stone...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *trips into room* uh, hey! It's me! Only, like, 4 months later (I could've sworn it's been longer since May but honestly what even is linear time). God, sorry. I know I've got a bunch of WIPs floating around somewhere. Life has been unpleasant. I hope everyone's still doing okay. Sending love your way.

**Author's Note:**

> I was planning to post this whole thing in one shot, but I ended up working straight through the past five days and I just haven't had the chance to finish it. It's almost done, I promise - I just need some time to fill in the end. 
> 
> Kudos & Comments make my heart go *dokidoki* - they're always appreciated <3


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